Syndrome
by Type Unique Pen Name Here
Summary: It would have been easier for everyone if she wasn't so stubborn. It would have been easier for her if she could have forgotten that Jacob was the first to care. But Kira was never one to make things easy, not even for herself. COMPLETE.
1. Taboo

**Disclaimer: **I do not own the movie (or novel), _See No Evil_, nor any of its characters. They are the property of Dan Magidan, WWE, and LGF. Please do not sue me.

**Author's Note: **Set after _Bothered_, _Speak No Evil_, _Mental Defect_, and _Hear No Evil_. This is a multi-chapter story that will eventually conclude this series/AU verse. I've no clue how many chapters this will be or how long it will take me to finish, but I plan to work on it as much as possible. The chapters will all be from Kira's POV and all written in the same style as the ficlets in this series, instead of writing this in a more traditional chapter style.

***

_**Taboo**_

"It's good to see you again, Kira."

Lying whore.

"I know it's probably a shock to your system, seeing the same psychiatrist more than once."

Arrogant bitch.

"But I think we're making progress, you and I. The state has appointed me to remain your therapist."

Naive cunt.

"Still not ready to talk? That's okay, Kira. It's okay. You don't have to. I'm not going to force you to do something you aren't ready to do."

Deceitful witch.

"So I'll do the talking for now."

There was a surprise. Kira didn't think this shrink would ever shut up. She guessed that was her punishment; the police and the prosecutors couldn't beat her down with the law yet, so they'd stuck her with this conceited, full of herself, so-called "therapist" for her temporary sentence.

Kira would rather they just send her to jail. Hell, give her the needle. She was used to men sticking her with things; she was used to needles and sharp points, jagged edges and serrated surfaces.

It was better than the talking. Than the condescending smile that dirty mouth was forming, the fake concern and care the temptress was oozing out.

And those wicked eyes; those wretched, wicked eyes.

Kira could feel them, staring into her soul. Seeing everything, knowing everything, taking that from her, using it against her.

Her fingers twitched. She ached to rip those eyes out.

One day she would.

"I think we got somewhere the other day, don't you?"

Not really.

"We're starting to get through those barriers you've built up, to protect yourself."

Fat chance of that.

"But I want you to understand something, Kira. I'm not going to hurt you."

Fucking fraud.

"I want to help you. You don't need those barriers. Nobody's going to hurt you."

Damned hypocrite. Did that harlot know that hypocrites were the ones rebuked the most in the bible? Probably not. Filthy heathen probably never read her bible. Probably never had a bible. Probably never even held one.

She'd burn. Oh, she would burn.

Just like Margaret. Just like Michael. Just like Zoe and Williams and Hannah and Melissa and Russell and Ritchie and Tye and…and Christine.

Kira closed her eyes. She ignored the way the shrink paused - finally! She shut up! - and kept her eyes clenched shut.

No. Not Christine. Christine was gone, but she wasn't burning. Christine was somewhere safe, and beautiful. Somewhere where nobody could ever hurt her again. Somewhere where she couldn't see Kira, see the awful sinner Kira was.

Kira would burn. She would burn before she gave the shrink what the bitch wanted.

She would burn before she betrayed Jacob.

"Kira? Are you okay?"

Ha! There had never been a more ridiculous question. Was Kira okay? When was the last time she'd been okay? She couldn't even remember. She had vague flashes; grimy hands touching her reverently, foul breath hot against her ear, warmth that reeked holding her and keeping her safe.

Nothing more than that.

Kira wanted to cry. She couldn't remember Jacob very well anymore. She couldn't remember Christine very well anymore.

Her two saviors were fading from her muddled mind. All those stupid, fucking medications she was on. She wanted to vomit them all up, bleed them all out.

"Kira, do you need me to call the doctor?"

With a grimace Kira forced herself to open her eyes. The last thing she wanted was to be smothered by doctors and nurses. They'd bring even more medications. So she stared at the shrink, stared into those sinful eyes that ate away at her insides.

Her fingers twitched. Gripped the chair tightly, until her knuckles turned white.

Her stomach was in knots, she ached from her head to her sex to her toes; she'd rip those eyes out one day.

"I don't think you're quite ready for the next step. I'm not going to push you. I can see that even though we made progress, bringing up Michael has been hard on you. That's okay though - we can wait. We have time."

Kira almost laughed. She didn't want time. She wanted peace. She wanted freedom. She wanted someone who actually gave a real damn about her, _her_ - not the fame and prestige or the sheer challenge or just stubborn pride or any of those empty, vapid, vain reasons all the doctors and shrinks came to her.

Without even really thinking about it her eyes closed, and she went slack in her chair. Her mind wandered back weeks, months, maybe even a whole year - she couldn't remember. She went back to those days spent in the Blackwell.

And she remembered. She remembered the first time he'd taken her out and laid her on the bed. Kira's legs lifted up, she pulled them to her chest, her heels resting on the very edge of the seat. She smiled; she could remember how nervous he'd been, how gentle.

As if she was made of glass.

"Kira? Kira? What it is?"

The shrink didn't break through Kira's thoughts. She rested her chin on her knees as she remembered the way he had almost worshipped her. It wasn't dirty or wicked, what he'd done; it was beautiful.

Jacob was trying to worship. He didn't even understand what it was he wanted to worship, or how; he just knew he wanted to, he felt compelled to, and Kira was his means.

It had scared her at first. But then she had begun to understand.

Tears leaked out from under her eyelids. But she kept smiling. Her faith was renewed, her soul felt strong again; the shrink would never break her.

No matter how hard they all pushed, Kira wasn't going to burn.


	2. Testimony

**Disclaimer: **I do not own the movie (or novel), _See No Evil_, nor any of its characters. They are the property of Dan Magidan, WWE, and LGF. Please do not sue me.

***

_**Testimony **_

Those damn medications were screwing with her head again; messing up her memories again. They didn't fucking clear up her head, they just muddled up her thoughts and blurred all the colors and all the lines.

Everything was all mixed up again.

Kira kept having flashes; vivid daydreams that just attacked her mind out of nowhere. They were fuzzy though; events were colliding, and she could once again found she couldn't remember how things actually went down.

Sometimes she would close her eyes, and she'd be under Michael again; face down on the bed so he had easier access, less struggle. She could feel him between her cheeks, she could smell his breath - and then he was gone.

One the floor, reaching for her, screaming he was sorry. His eyes told her the honest truth until massive fingers plucked them out, and Kira was too numb to accept the rotting apology.

She just laid there, staring. She felt a new weight, much heavier. The humid breath that hit her face was rancid, and she could feel him against her cheeks.

There was an old hag's shrieks; then Christine's pitiful whimpers.

Kira opened her eyes every time she felt sticky warmth on her back, never knowing if it was blood or cum.

But she still never said a word. She never told the doctors and nurses to shove those pills up their own asses. She never complained to the shrink about her jumbled up memories. She didn't even utter a single word of comfort to herself, when she was certain she was all alone and prying eyes and ears were nowhere near to witness the sin of breaking her vow.

She would never break her vow. It was all she had left. Everything else was broken; Michael had broken it or Jacob had broken it or Margaret had broken it or Kira herself had broken it.

Or maybe it was all the State. All the doctors and the police and the lawyers and the lying, hypocritical shrinks.

The few days spent with Jacob were much more preferable to the weeks of dealing with all the filthy, sinful bastards that kept telling her they were trying to help her.

Kira didn't need their help. Their help had gotten her into all of this in the first place. They were the ones who'd left her in a foster home where 'Daddy' was a deviant and 'Mommy' was on permanent vacation with bliss. They were the ones who arrested her, forced her to roll over on Michael, and then stuck her in juvie only to then be stuck with Michael for a weekend.

They were the ones who had shipped her off to Jacob. So maybe she owed them a tiny, meager apology.

_Wasn't Christine worth it too?_

No. Christine hadn't been worth it. Christine should never have been a part of it. No, Kira owed them no apology - they were the ones who had sent Christine, pure and sweet and fiercely loyal Christine, to her death.

Wretched souls, the lot of them. Dirty swine, they fed off their power; they were like roaring lions roaming for innocent flesh to devour, pure souls to destroy.

Kira would see them all rot in Hell one day.

But this day, she would see her old friend at last. The shrink had promised Kira that she would be brought into one of the recreation rooms and allowed to watch the latest news in Jacob's trail. She would finally be able to see him again; his hulking frame was so blurry in her memory now, and she wanted to etch the exact details back into her brain.

Then the medications couldn't screw with Jacob again.

Just so long as the shrink kept her word. Her filthy word, it was good for nothing - but Kira had nothing, and she needed something to hope for.

So Kira sat on the edge of her bed, her eyes closed as those cluttered memories flashed behind her eyelids. She remembered Ritchie - scared, little rich boy who'd done nothing but sit at his computer and break as many laws as she had just because he thought he could - and she remembered the way he squirmed, stuck to the ladder.

Like a worm on a hook. He flailed and screamed and Jacob heard none of it.

Then it wasn't Ritchie anymore. It was her. She was tied and tethered, bound and gagged; fingers probed at her eyes despite her protests. There were fingers closing around her neck, squeezing her throat until she couldn't only wheeze in desperate breaths.

But those same fingers were touching her reverently, and she couldn't fight it. She couldn't struggle, she couldn't plead for him to stop. He was exploring and trying to comprehend the things he saw on her, the things he liked but didn't know why.

Michael's empty sockets stared at her, his corpse on top of her; fucking her, hitting her, over and over and over, and those reverent touches were gone. Gone, gone, she felt nothing but the familiar feel of hate and anger and frustration because she wouldn't bend.

Kira opened her eyes and stared up at her therapist as the harlot entered the room with that saccharin smile plastered on her face like make-up. When the woman went home Kira knew she wiped that smile off with the rest of the glop that covered her skin.

"We're going to go watch the news now, Kira. Just as promised. But I need you to make me a promise."

Kira had known this was coming. She was expected to be have; if the shrink could do this for Kira, then Kira owed her something in return. Kira knew that. Kira would do that. Kira would do what she had to if it meant seeing Jacob again.

So without rolling her eyes or snorting in derision, Kira nodded in agreement. She would behave.

The therapist's smile widened a little, and looked painful. The woman laid her dirty hands - blood Kira couldn't see, so much blood that she could feel dripping onto her skin - on Kira and that eyeless rapist haunted her for a split second.

She grit her teeth and let the woman lead her out.

It was the most people Kira had seen in a long time. She felt as though she were back at county, if it were coed. Her arms instinctively wrapped around her own frame; she hated county.

When her eyes clenched shut she was back in that makeshift cage of shopping carts and barbed wire fences. The sterile scent was now the stench of rotting flesh. When she opened her eyes that scent stayed with her.

"Are you up for this, Kira? We can go right back to your room."

It was tempting to speak again, just to tell that dirty slut to shut her cocksucker. Kira refrained, speaking only with facial expressions. While glowering at the woman she noticed the physical differences between them; Kira was a few inches taller, even with the heels the woman was wearing. Despite the months of being fed through tubes and eating only when absolutely forced, Kira wasn't as skinny as the shrink.

Kira stored this knowledge away; saving it for later, for when she was lying in bed, unrestrained and unmedicated.

"Settle down, Kira," the woman instructed as her gaze faltered and she looked ahead. Her lying eyes couldn't hold up under Kira's knowing stare. She kept leading Kira towards the rec room. "Remember, you can be taken back to your room by choice or by force. It's up to you."

By choice or by force. Kira found the phrase kind of fitting. She knew it perfectly described the two camps everyone was in about her; she had either been taken by force, or stayed with Jacob by choice.

Kira realized that she didn't actually know which of those camps her 'therapist' was part of.

They were in the rec room though, and Kira found she didn't care.

There were others in there of course; a girl complaining about the television no longer being on her favorite show, two boys playing checkers, a few others here and there.

Kira didn't care about them either.

Jacob was already on the TV. It was really him; it was Jacob Goodnight. It was her monster, her savior; huge and hulking, just as filthy as he'd been in the hotel. He was in a dull, blue jumpsuit, though there was a straight jacket - she wondered with a smile if it was tailor-made for his size - covering the top. His feet were shackled, and he shambled along as the police led him to a transport.

It was really him.

Kira collapsed to her knees in front of the TV. She ignored the other girl's protests, she ignored the questions from her shrink. Her head tilted to the side, her eyes grew wide and wet, and her hands timidly reached up. Fingertips brushed the screen where he stood.

So lifeless. So big and yet so small; he was scared and confused and angry. She could see it. Her protector was nothing more than a child in a giant's body, and he was all alone. He had no one, not Margaret and not her.

Kira's heart started to break.

"The judge ruled that he fit to stand trial. His lawyer will be going for not guilty by reason of insanity. They'll be filing some appeals and motions, he's going to be in the news for a long time."

Kira wanted to speak. She wanted to ask; would he be brought to the asylum if his lawyer won? Would he be brought to her?

She knew he wouldn't. She knew they would keep him away from her; her fists clenched, nails digging into her own flesh so her blood stained the screen as the news cameraman zoomed in on Jacob's broken face, his eyes staring straight into the lens.

As if he could see her on the other side. As if he knew; he knew she would be watching.

He was so alone. He was just like her; they were poking and prodding as much as they could. Every time he snapped it was more fuel to their legal fire; he had to be put down. Like a fighting ring pit bull, he had to be put down. He was nothing but a dog; trained and tortured by the ringmaster, holding bones and a bible.

They would find a way to put him down. They would find a way to take him away from her forever; take away all her meager hopes, the weak fodder of her dreams.

She had to do it. For her, for him. For every chance they were losing. She had to.

Kira stared at the footage of Jacob and whispered hoarsely, "I want to testify."


	3. Psychosis

**Disclaimer: **I do not own the movie (or novel), _See No Evil_, nor any of its characters. They are the property of Dan Magidan, WWE, and LGF. Please do not sue me.

**Author's Note:** I originally intended to only have Kira's POV for this story, and I even had her next chapter figured out in my head. But when I sat down to write, I wound up writing this instead. So the story has changed a little in that there will be a couple of chapters that focus on Jacob, but that doesn't really change the direction of the story. The Kira chapter I'd intended to write for this installment will instead be next week's update.

***

_**Psychosis**_

In the last cell of solitary confinement, locked away from the world, from even the world's rejects, sat Jacob "Goodnight" Gayne.

It had taken the authorities several weeks to find out more than the whispered name of "Goodnight." They had only drunk and superstitious bums, paranoid hookers, insidious pimps, and jacked-up junkies.

All sinners, but the state never threw stones without confessions written in the sand. They took them in as children, hardened the wicked rebellion, and spat them back out. Sometimes they would bring the lost souls back in, but there was such an abundance that it often felt like they just ignored.

The inhabitants of Sodom could tell the authorities nothing - they called the shadow "Goodnight" and it was like the name of the boogeyman. One of those urban legends; local kids turned off the lights and said his name, staring into the mirrors.

They never knew what he would kill them with.

The police and the prosecutors could not pinpoint where the man they would later find out was Jacob Gayne got the nickname of Goodnight. They quickly matched his MO to that of the missing killer Officer Williams - dead on the scene, lifeless puppet of the system - had shot and lost his arm to.

And now he'd lost so much more than that.

It took a lot of digging, but they found out that the nickname came about roughly two years before Williams' first encounter with the monster. Finding out his real name was even harder.

The monster itself didn't even seem to know its own name. Perhaps it had no name other than the nickname; perhaps it didn't even know of its nickname, either. The monster barely even spoke. Sometimes it would make strange noises, and its lawyers had said that it tried to talk every now and then - but never to them, no, never to anyone around it.

The girl, the sole survivor they'd found with the monster, had been even less help. There was defiance in her eyes; oh, she could talk. She could talk and think and function, she knew what they wanted. She just wouldn't give it.

It was much like the first time the law had found the lair of the monster - hiding in plain sight where nobody would look until the madness spread itself too far - a lone girl alive among all the bodies.

The first girl had lost her eyes, her sanity, her soul.

The last girl had seemingly given them up.

They tried using the girls against the monster. They showed it pictures of both. It had stared, confused. It didn't move when it saw the first girl, paper thin and terrified in her cell at the asylum. It tried to kill them all when they showed it the picture of the second girl strapped to her hospital bed.

That was the first time it had tried to speak. They eventually figured out it was saying "Kira." It wanted the girl.

They tried to use that. They tried every thing they could think of - save bringing the girl, they knew better than to help the woman and the beast she rode - but nothing worked.

The monster would not give them what they wanted.

It was after weeks of digging into Margaret Gayne's background that they finally found out what the monster was; who it was.

Margaret Gayne had once been a pretty, young thing. And like all pretty young things that came across wickedness, she lost her innocence, her youth, her prettiness. She had filed a report, but who would care when they could be drinking from wickedness' cup?

Margaret Gayne then disappeared. There was a record of a boy being born to her, in a hospital several states away. Nine months after her brush with wickedness, after her failed report.

One Jacob Gayne. A large, healthy boy. Untainted by the sin of his conception.

The authorities soon realized that had not lasted very long. Soon they found bits and pieces - Margaret was quite skilled at keeping prying eyes away, and taking away the ones that did manage to spy. They started to piece together a rough history, the origins of the state's strangest and most gruesome cases.

The monster remained locked away. The more they learned, the more they wanted him burned at the stake.

He was the child of evil; the devil's and God's. A man mutated by the basest of lusts and wretched whispers of his black heart; a woman twisted by misconstrued religion and her damaged mind thirsting for vindication. He had been bred and beaten to pervert everything.

There was nothing of a man left inside the monster now. It was nothing but a hulking shadow, a brute with only a predator's intelligence and thinking. It was an instinctual creature, an animal; the closest the world would ever get to having a literal hellhound walk the earth.

There was no pity or compassion. The men of the law had lost all of that their first year serving it. There was no room for human warmth, because their enemies had no human warmth.

But there were details, technicalities. Weakness in the laws that the men hated; little rules that they could not break, even though they knew, they _knew_ with all their sinful hearts, that those rules were there just to help the wicked ones running through the city streets.

And those rules now helped the monster in the last cell in solitary confinement. Its lawyers were playing with those rules, waving them on banners, screaming them at the top of their blackened lungs.

The monster wasn't fit. The monster wasn't sane. The monster didn't deserve the same trial any other criminal might get. The monster didn't deserve the needle or the chair or the chamber. The monster was unstable and dangerous - even to itself. The monster had been punished all its life for a crime it didn't commit, one the state failed to rectify - why punish it more for the state's failure?

Lies. Manipulative lies, trying to tug on heartstrings - and the people of this modern Sodom had such bleeding hearts. The men of the law were dry as bone, but the inhabitants were wet with their filth; their tolerance and their perversion and their pity.

The people were rallying behind the lawyers and their monster; the judges were being swayed.

The authorities were having their authority stolen right out from under them.

And the monster still said nothing to them.

At first the monster had rebelled. It tried to break out, break free. It hated the walls around it, hated the little bit of sunlight that could slip in. It hated the food and the sterile sheets.

It screamed. It wailed. It roared. It shook the prison with its rage. It clawed at its head - the maggots had been cleaned out, the doctors had almost plucked their eyes out for him afterwards, but it seemed to miss the flies and the crawling in its skull. It beat at the door, screaming the sound they now knew was the girl's name. Sometimes it screamed another sound that they thought might be "Mother."

For months it had thrown its tantrum. It was frightening, the strength and determination and endurance; it did not sleep or eat for weeks and when it did, it did so sparingly. Then it would resume its fit, shaking the ground again.

They drugged it, like they had to do when its lawyers came, when prosecutors and police came to question, to try and garner information. They drugged it at night so the other prisoners could finally sleep, so the guards would stop quivering away.

It finally stopped after months. Worn out and broken. The monster had given up. It stopped screaming those noises. The monster simply remained silent in his cell, staring at the wall. He rocked on his tiny bunk; back and forth, back and forth. His eyes were transfixed on something nobody else could see. He listened to a melody only he could hear.

His dirty fingers twitched every so often. His lips moved and exposed rotting, uneven teeth, as if to smile.

He would kill them all - oh, he would punish all those wretched sinners that guarded him. He would judge them, the haughty that thought they could judge him. He would judge them, and he would punish them.

But first, he would find her again. He would find Kira, and he would cleanse her again - he knew they had tainted her, he knew they had taken her away so they could bathe her in their filth to turn her against him, to trick him into taking away her honest eyes - and then he would punish them all.

Jacob would get her back. He had to get her back. He had nothing else. His memories were unclear as always; his awareness of even himself was gone again. But he remembered Kira. His remembered the holy on her skin. He remembered the tightness between his legs, and the way she would place his hands on her skin when he was too afraid to of his own free will.

His fingers twitched when he remembered those moments. His mouth moved slightly, trying to smile again when he thought of the holy on her back, soft and clean.

In his mind the familiar song played. He lost himself in his blurry, unfocused memories. He lost himself in them until he was in his trance, the one place where the constant pain could not reach him the whispers of voices from his past could not plague his ears. He lost himself in those moments of his life until he truly thought that's where he really was.

Jacob could not recall ever being happier. But then Jacob could not recall ever being happy.


	4. Witness

**Disclaimer: **I do not own the movie (or novel), _See No Evil_, nor any of its characters. They are the property of Dan Magidan, WWE, and LGF. Please do not sue me.

**Author's Note: **I meant to get this up last week but unfortunately there are some things going on in my life that are making it difficult for me to have time to write and when I do, I often don't have the energy or desire. This chapter references an aspect of Kira and Christine's relationship from the novelization (how Christine and Kira had talked about remaining together after getting out of juvie) but it isn't necessary to have read the novel to get this chapter. Also, I named the girl from the prologue of SNE Rachael because the actress' name is Zoe - and since there was a character named Zoe in the movie, I took that actress' name, Rachael, for this character. Thanks to everyone who has reviewed, they've really helped a lot.

***

_**Witness**_

"Your visitor is here, Kira."

_How delightful._

Kira turned her head from the window to stare blankly at her therapist. "I'm not interested in seeing anyone except my lawyer," she stated; her voice was still a little raspy, but the words were clear and distinct.

The wicked whore that kept saying she wanted to "help" Kira nodded and walked over to where Kira was sitting. "I know. But this is someone you need to meet, Kira. I think she can help you, and maybe you can help her."

Kira closed her eyes, trying to shut out the slut's grating voice. That lying tongue hurt Kira's ears, but when she closed her eyes an old crone was there, pointing her spidery fingers.

"_Whore! Filthy witch! Don't you see it, Jacob? Don't you see the sin etched into her skin?!"_

"I don't want to see anyone except my lawyer. Or Jacob's."

The shrink sighed; a sound Kira knew oh, so well. Disappointment; the longsuffering exhale of someone who expected her standards to be met perfectly, and failure to do so meant the bullshit guilt would be piled up high.

It was wasted on Kira these days. She no longer felt guilt. There was no such thing as remorse in her redeemed soul.

He'd washed it away with her sins, washed it all away in those lukewarm showers.

"Kira, you aren't getting out of this visit. Be thankful that it's under my conditions, not the prosecutor's. He wants to put a lot of pressure on you. Kira, your case is unlike any other – the state isn't quite sure how to handle it, and there's a chance that they may bend or even break a few rules to wrap it up in a way to satisfy the public. I can't protect you from that kind of wrath, not if you refuse my help."

Fingers curled around the edge of her chair's arms, Kira stared straight out her window at the beautiful, sunny day. Was she supposed to be moved by the cunt's speech? Was she supposed to feel touched? Cared for? Loved?

She didn't. She didn't feel any of those things. But Kira had to see Jacob. Kira had to help Jacob. Kira knew all too well that to survive and make it through, sacrifices had to be made – even her dignity, her innocence, even her own soul. Kira was a survivor; she didn't care if she had nothing left when she made it through, as long as she made it through.

And now that determination was carried over onto Jacob. Kira would see him make it through, no matter what it took.

So with bile in her throat, she finally whispered, "I'll see my visitor now."

"Thank you." The shrink turned and walked back to the door. "You can come in now."

Kira closed her eyes; that eyeless corpse was on top of her again, beating her, cursing her, reminding her that she belonged to him. She always would, no matter what. She was his, his,_ his_ – every time she sold herself out, she belonged to him more.

"Kira, this is Rachael Bates. She was Jacob's other survivor."

Eyelids flew open and Kira's head whipped around to stare.

The other survivor. The other girl.

The police and the lawyers and the shrinks had all told Kira about this girl. They'd all recounted the tale. They'd rubbed it in her face that she wasn't as special as they assumed she believed herself to be.

But Kira had never seen her. Never knew her name, never knew what she looked like. Kira sometimes even forgot; she didn't delude herself to think she was the only girl Jacob tried to keep. She remembered her cellmate in Blackwell, the eyeless corpse of a whore only her pimp would miss.

But this girl…this girl wasn't Jacob's other survivor. She was just a victim that had lucked out. Oh, Jacob might have kept other girls before, but never like Kira. Never like her.

She was special.

Looking at this other girl, Kira's faith was reaffirmed even more. She stared right at the girl's sunglasses, past the shaded plastic, and knew that she was Jacob's only true survivor.

The empty eye sockets exposed the truth.

"Hello, Kira. I've wanted to meet you for a while."

Kira's eyes narrowed. She didn't like the way this girl sounded; like nails on a chalkboard, her voice was scratchy, perhaps more grating than the shrink's.

"I'm going to leave you two girls alone for a few minutes. Kira," the shrink looked at her, that condescending look on her face again. _Be a good girl, be Mommy's good, little pet, or it's time out again, Kira. _"Remember what we talked about. There will be two security guards right outside the door. Behave."

"Yes, Mommy," Kira muttered under her breath; her lips barely moved, the words too mumbled to be understood.

"_Filthy whore, you can't take my son away from me!"_

"I used to be a patient here, you know."

Kira rolled her eyes. Oh, how fascinating. As if it was so shocking that someone who was in Jacob's possession and managed to live through it might wind up in a mental asylum. "Nobody is a patient here. Just inmates too crazy for prison."

"_The one's who hear voices. And there's only one voice to hear."_

Kira closed her eyes while Rachael sat down. She wished the old hag's scratchy, nagging voice would just go away; that old bitch never stopped "checking" on her.

"I know it can seem that way. For almost two years I was in isolation. They had to keep me restrained. I kept having these violent fits, I was always terrified every little sound was Jacob coming back to finish me off."

Kira's fingers gripped her chair tightly. Curling, nails biting against the cold, sterile plastic. She felt a shudder of contempt travel down her spine; she had heard other people say his name, but something possessive, protective, swelled up when she heard this girl say it.

"Why are you here?"

Rachael didn't say anything at first. She looked thoughtful, as if trying to figure out how to best word her reasons – the best way to phrase her lies, the cleverest way to manipulate Kira against Jacob.

Kira knew that was the true reason this girl was here, staring at Kira with those empty sockets.

"I know why he kept you. It was the same reason he kept me. You have crosses, don't you? He can stare at crosses for hours. Sometimes he touches them," Rachael whispered. Her fingers were rubbing at her covered wrists. "Usually he seems too afraid to, like a child afraid to touch something holy in church."

Those words buzzed like flies in Kira's head. She wanted to cover her ears; maggots were growing in her veins with each word this girl said. She didn't want to know; she could imagine enough, she didn't want to know.

She was special. She wasn't like the others.

She didn't even look like the others.

The girl in the cage was blonde. Older than Kira, probably thinner – though it was hard to tell, the corpse had been so bloated.

And this girl…this girl, now that Kira actually looked and really took the sight of her in, looked a little like Christine. Not as tan, perhaps not Hispanic, but her wavy, black hair and darker complexion, the fuller figure – Kira could remember perfectly what Christine looked like.

Except for her eyes. Kira couldn't remember her eyes.

"It's frightening. Watching this huge, vicious…animal turning into a reverent child. Seeing him murder and then seeing him stare at parts of your body like they're the most sacred things he's ever seen."

Kira missed Christine. By now, if not for Blackwell, they would be out of county. They would be in the real world, together, living on their own and struggling to survive, but happy to have each other, happy to have a true friend on their side. She wished she was out of the sterile walls surrounding her, in some dinky apartment with her friend.

Kira closed her eyes while the girl prattled on – so familiar, so eerily familiar, all the scenarios she's painting with her tongue – and wished she was with Christine.

Jacob took her. Jacob and Margaret, they took her from Kira. They took the one good thing in Kira's life from her, ripped Christine away and ripped Christine up.

Jacob…Jacob had taken from her. Jacob had taken everyone from her. He'd destroyed what little of a life she'd had.

Kira looked over at this girl, as her fellow survivor, the truth starting to sink in – and this girl didn't even have to try convincing Kira, she wasn't even there yet, and already Kira was turning.

She was supposed to be with Christine now.

But Jacob had dragged Kira into his Hell, and punished Christine for trying to get her out. Just as he had punished Michael for striving for redemption.

Kira closed her eyes, tears pricking and burning – and then it hit her. Sick, wicked truth hit her, going deep, bleeding out her previous realizations.

Jacob hadn't taken those things from her. He hadn't taken any of them from her. He hadn't taken Christine from her.

Christine had abandoned her to Jacob.

_You lied._

Kira stared at the girl sitting across from her – those empty eye sockets, they tried to hide the girl's lying soul, no windows into that soul, because she was simply that.

An empty soul. Just like Christine.

You promised it would be just us. You promised we would go together. You promised you'd stay with me. You promised. And then you said no. You sent my off on my own, you didn't care – you never cared, did you? You just felt sorry for me. Just pitied me.

"Kira, you have to understand something. He takes girls like us, not because we matter – he wants nothing but the tattoos on our skin. The symbols he's fascinated with, it has nothing to do with us. He doesn't care about anyone. He didn't care about you, just like he didn't care about me."

"Liar."

She moved fast, and she moved quietly; grabbing the girl's arms and pinning them against her sides. "You were with him what, a day?" Kira watched the girl tense, fear spreading through the lying cunt like a drug straight to her system. "How long?"

Rachael looked like she wanted to scream but was too afraid to. She whispered in a shaky voice – high-pitched and scratchy, still so scratchy – "A day and a half."

"I was with him almost four days. He bathed me, he touched me, he held me. He killed his mother for me. He stared me in the eyes, and he never reached for them." Kira let go of one wrist, that hand gripping the girl's chin. "So while he might have taken your eyes, he opened mine. And that is why one day, you're lying tongue will pay for trying to turn me against him." With a snort of disgust, Kira let go of the girl and walked over to the door. "My visitor is ready to leave!"

"You're wrong, Kira," Rachael whispered meekly as she stood. "He doesn't care. He can't care."

"No." Kira watched Rachael as the two security guards escorted her out. "You're wrong." She smiled a little when she added, "You're just too blind to see it."


	5. Atonement

**Disclaimer: **I do not own the movie (or novel), _See No Evil_, nor any of its characters. They are the property of Dan Magidan, WWE, and LGF. Please do not sue me.

**Author's Note: **I'm not all that happy with how this chapter turned out, but it was an extremely difficult, stubborn chapter to write. Unfortunately, it was also necessary, so I couldn't really skip it, either. Hopefully it's better than I think it is, or at least decent. Also, most of my knowledge of lawyers and all this legal stuff comes from reality crime shows and _Law & Order_ (which I also do not own). So I'm sorry if this is completely unrealistic. Thank you to those who have reviewed this story. It means a lot. A huge thank to to **Jemima Flute**, who every so often nags me about this and helps to keep me dedicated. In turn I have to dedicate this chapter to her. I hope you enjoy this chapter, and I promise, Jacob and Kira will see each other again soon.

***

_**Atonement**_

"Your lawyer will be here soon, Kira. She's an excellent defense attorney, I've worked with her before," the shrink babbled as she sat down across from Kira.

Something in the way the woman said those words, "Worked with her before," didn't sit quite right with Kira. It rubbed her the wrong way; like they were colleagues, partners in crime. Two filthy harlots, working together to corrupt her.

"She's taking the case pro bono, in fact. She isn't some overworked and underpaid servant of the state stuck with your case, she's a real attorney, Kira. She'll take good care of you. If…"

Ah, the if. The but, the 'you have to meet our standards, you have to do something for us, you have to or you're fucked.'

Kira had heard that before.

The sun was bright, but Kira squinted in its direction. She wasn't get out of hearing the shrink, but she could at least be spared the awful sight; bloody tears from empty sockets, today it was wavy black hair and bronze skin painted brown with rot.

"…you are willing to talk to her. To listen to her, find out your options."

_Manipulative cunt. _

"I haven't been tried yet for my current crimes. So I haven't been found guilty. So I would appreciate it if you put my sentence to never escape the annoying whine of your voice on hold and let me enjoy the little time outside my cell that I've been given."

Kira noticed – with only a small measure of triumph and smugness, as pride was a sin she'd avoided even before Blackwell – that despite everyone's insistence that she was suffering from that stupid syndrome and was thoroughly fucked in the head, she still spoke like her normal, jaded self. Now that she actually spoke.

It was nice, speaking. Her throat wasn't sore any more. Her voice was back to full strength. She still didn't talk that much, only when it was absolutely necessary. Sometimes it was only necessary for her sanity though.

"I'm sorry."

_And your pants are on fire, you just can't see it yet. Just wait for the day you die._

"How about I listen and you talk?"

Kira didn't look over. She knew this trick.

"Why don't you tell me about your tattoos? Almost all of them are religious. Christian-themed. Why is that, Kira? Did you have any faith before your time at the Blackwell?"

Kira didn't look over at the shrink, and she didn't look at any of her tattoos. Her right fingers did move a little, very lightly rubbing the cross on her left wrist.

They were all religious based. Crosses, angels, holy symbols. Symbols of purity and suffering; perfect beings and perfect sacrifice. Her mother had been devout, and Kira could still remember Sunday School until she was seven. Until her mother died, and her father had lost his frail shreds of faith.

Kira knew exactly what angels were, and she knew exactly what the cross represented. But she had not believed, not before Jacob. At first she'd been too young – oh, her little mind took the teacher's words for fact because Mommy believed. By the time she was able to decide for herself, Mommy was gone, and Daddy thought she might make a good replacement – in every respect.

Michael had gotten her out of that hell, only to shove her right into his. They were both the product of fucked up fathers and mothers who couldn't save them, but Michael had thought he could exorcise his demons through her.

Faith was easy to give up on in her world. But she'd had nowhere else to turn to. So the markings she put on her body, over places that'd been dealt the worst – physical – damage were the only ones that gave her any kind of comfort.

Even her mother would have admired the beauty she'd had painted on her back.

Kira looked down from the sun. She stared at the cross on her left wrist; her lips formed a soft curve. Maybe she had her mother to thank for Jacob.

Her mother would want Kira to stay with Jacob. Protect him, take care of him. Keep him safe, give him love – be for him what his mother should have been, instead of the monster Kira had saved him from.

Kira didn't miss the irony of it all. She'd spent years trying to find a way out of having her dad project her mother onto her, and Michael projecting his, she was now willing to take on the role for Jacob Goodnight.

"Kira?"

"Before him I never really believed. I'm the one who knows what all of these mean, what they stand for, but he's the one who gave me faith."

The shrink didn't respond for several minutes, and Kira had to struggle not to silently gloat over throwing the bitch off. Her therapist hadn't expected that answer, no, not at all.

"Am I interrupting something?"

Kira looked up at the new voice. Her eyes narrowed, hardened. She already didn't like this woman.

Short hair – boyish almost, dark and messy; dark eyes, pale skin, and the aura of someone who had a cause she'd like to shove up everyone else's ass.

Undoubtedly the lawyer.

The things she'd have to deal with to get Jacob and herself out of this mess.

"Not at all, we were just waiting for you to arrive." The shrink stood and shook the lawyer's hand. They exchanged friendly smiles – too friendly, too open, too many secrets in those curving lips.

Kira continued to lightly rub the cross on her wrist.

The shrink introduced the lawyer to Kira. Kira didn't bother picking up the name. She just watched as they kept smiling.

"I'll let you two talk, all right? There will be security guards nearby. Just let them know when you're done." The shrink didn't stop smiling that ridiculous, sickening smile as she turned to leave.

Kira stared at her wrist. She traced the tattoo with her thumb and waited for the lawyer to say something. Waited for the lawyer to make it clear what angle she was coming from.

All lawyers had angles. They never worked for their client, they worked for their client's money or for the prestige their client would bring them. The latter was never truer than with pro bono cases.

Kira had been involved with the system long enough to know that.

"I hear you've finally agreed to testify in regards to Jacob Gayne."

Gayne? Oh, right. Margaret. That was Margaret's last name. They'd given it to Jacob. It didn't suit him. He didn't deserve to be labeled with that self-serving zealot.

"Goodnight. I'm testifying for Jacob Goodnight," Kira stated, slowly and clearly so the lawyer's fame-focused brain would understand her.

The lawyer smiled condescendingly at Kira and nodded. "Right. Goodnight," she 'agreed' – as if agreeing with a child she knows is wrong but can't argue with.

_You probably would think I was wrong if I told you that you'll burn in Hell one day._

"Kira, I know that you want to testify for the defense, for Jacob."

Kira rolled her eyes. There was a surprise; she had figured her whore of a shrink would have given the lawyer a head's up. She knew what was coming. She held her hand up before the lawyer could even think of telling her that testifying for Jacob was not in her best interest.

"I've been through this mess before. You're my lawyer. Even if you're taking this case pro bono, you have to do what I want you to do, or have yourself removed. So here's the deal. I will testify on Jacob's behalf. Whether it's in my best interest or not." Kira finally stared the lawyer in the eye – sinful, lying, wretched things, they were empty, hungry, trying to devour her – and added, "So either tell his lawyers that, or get the security guards."

The lawyer sighed. Her shoulders slumped a little; surrender already.

Good. Kira didn't want to argue today.

"All right. I'll contact his lawyers as soon as I leave here. I'm sure they would be thrilled to have you as their star witness in the hearing next week."

Kira didn't have the strength to hide her reaction. She perked up immediately, hope filling her. "Next week? I can see him next week?"

The lawyer held her hands up. "Don't get too excited. He might not be there in person. But they're having another hearing to sort out a few…technicalities for the trial. Things could change though, they're also trying to get another judge, get it moved to a different county – they're literally trying every single venue they can come up with."

Kira could almost smile. She knew his lawyers weren't doing any of this for Jacob himself, but at least their selfish intentions were for Jacob's best interest.

Even the sinful could be used for the right.

"I'll find out what exactly is going on though and keep you informed. I should be back here to meet with you again in a couple of days."

The lawyer started to stand up, but Kira's hand shot out and grabbed her wrist; tight. The woman tensed; it would have been impossible to miss the way her empty eyes glanced fearfully towards the security guards.

Kira let go. She didn't want the guards taking her away before she could get more information. Unlike the shrink, the lawyer was a real means of finding out about Jacob.

"How is he?"

"Honestly? I don't know. Nobody does, except the people personally involved. There are rumors that he's being kept drugged, or that he's made himself sick, but…nobody really knows anything for certain."

Her poor Jacob. Kira closed her eyes as if in pain. She had a feeling both of those rumors were true. Her thumb rubbed against her wrist forcefully. "I want to see him. Tell his lawyers that. I might can get him to talk, or cooperate. Tell them anything. I just…I need to see him."

It was painful, confessing that truth to such a manipulative liar, but Kira had no choice. She had to do whatever she could to get to Jacob.

He would understand. He would forgive her; wash her clean and forgive her.

The lawyer hesitated but then nodded – reluctantly. "All right. I'll see what I can arrange. But I want to make it very clear that I do not support this decision."

Undoubtedly she would have continued for another five minutes had Kira not snapped at her, "I don't care." That was time the lawyer needed to be spending setting up a meeting with Jacob, with his lawyers – not rambling on like a condescending parent.

Kira didn't need parents. She didn't need lawyers or shrinks or doctors or nurses or security guards. She just needed to be clean again. She just needed to make everything right. She just needed Jacob.

Then everything would finally be perfect again.


	6. Baptism

**Disclaimer: **I do not own the movie (or novel), _See No Evil_, nor any of its characters. They are the property of Dan Magidan, WWE, and LGF. Please do not sue me.

**Author's Note: **First off – thank you to those who reviewed the last chapter. I'm sorry it was such a long wait, and I am SO glad that it wasn't as flat and lifeless as I thought it was. Those reviews really made my day. Secondly – I had no idea I would be able to update again so fast, but the stormy weather sort of ruined the plan of going in for a job interview at the local waterpark (plus any other outdoor plans I might have had), and this was the chapter that I had been dying to write. So after finally getting the last chapter written, I was able to move on and zip through this one. Hopefully it's better than the last chapter. The next chapter will not be coming as quickly, but it shouldn't take half as long as the previous one. It also will pick up directly after this one, so there will be plenty more interaction to come.

***

_**Baptism**_

Nobody wanted this to happen.

Her lawyer. Her shrink. The doctors. The police. The DA.

Well, almost nobody.

His lawyers were ecstatic. Nervous, but ecstatic.

She could be their big break with their most uncooperative client.

Everyone else was doing all they could to intervene. Everyone else was trying to put a stop to this. Everyone else knew - they just knew in their wicked, little heads - that this would turn into something awful.

But there was still a little bit of free will and choice left in the state. And Kira was exercising her rights. For once she got to use their little system against them, for her benefit.

Her lawyer was still trying to talk her out of it. The way she acted as though she was truly worried about Kira's health and safety made Kira want to vomit; the stench of the cage was never as suffocating as the real world's bullshit.

Kira wondered if there was any way to have Jacob's lawyers become her lawyers. She still hated them - diseased rats, devouring every dirty, little crumb they could find - but at least they were on Jacob's side.

Even if it was only for the infamy they were gaining.

The therapist had been the loudest protestor. That woman's shrieks never failed to be heard.

This was bad for Kira's mental stability. For her sanity. For the road to recovery she was supposedly on - oh yes, all those medications and all their brutal hallucinations haunting her were helping her recover beautifully.

This wasn't going to be stopped though. This was what Kira had been waiting for; her moment had finally come. Days, weeks, months - it was over a year now, she'd found that out recently - all those hours waiting, biding her time. It would all pay off at last.

Even as she and her lawyer sat with Jacob's lawyers, the rats conversing, there were still people trying to stop it. Her lawyer was arguing with his over something; probably trying to find a way out of this. Some loophole that Kira wasn't aware of.

Didn't matter. It was too late.

She could feel him. She could literally _feel_ Jacob in this building. There was no way she could forget that hulking presence; the aura that followed him.

He was always surrounded by death and decay; blood and sweat. Punishment. Reverence. He was judge, jury, and executioner, and there was never any mistaking it when he came near.

Kira rubbed furiously at the cross on her left wrist.

"He's ready."

So buried deep within her mind to escape the senseless chattering of rats, Kira hadn't heard the guard come in. She started slightly; looked up, hope swelling.

The lawyers wanted to go in with her.

"I think it would be best if Miss Vanning went in by herself at first," someone else said. Oh, right. The prison shrink. He was there too. He was someone on the fence; wasn't against her visit, wasn't for it. He didn't have one single clue which way it would go for Jacob.

The lawyers and shrink argued. Something about too many people stressing Jacob to the breaking point.

Ha. They'd already broken him. Maybe all these wretched sinners surrounding him, he'd finally remember who and what he was.

Kira would love to watch that.

"Fine. My client goes in first - but I want the guards near the door, with drugs or tasers or whatever you use on this guy, I do not want anything happening to her."

Her lawyer's concern was just dripping.

"Ma'am, we won't let anything happen to her. Are you sure you want to do this Miss Vanning?"

Kira stood up and walked past the guard. "Where is he?"

The guard grabbed her arm. He didn't answer. Just lead her. He looked at her the way he probably looked at any other criminal; that's all she was to him. A criminal visiting from another prison.

He was right about the prison part.

"This is your visiting room. He's being brought in now," the guard informed her. He opened the door, shoved her in; only his arm entered the room before quickly retracting.

The door slammed. The lock clicked into place.

Kira looked at the table, at the two chairs.

They were small. Jacob would make them look tiny. Like an adult at a little girl's tea party.

Kira laughed, softly, at such a thought. She chewed on her lip, rubbed her tattoo. She paced. She couldn't sit. She was too excited; she was almost giddy. Her pulse raced as she waited.

It couldn't have been long. Perhaps a minute at the most. It felt like she spent the same amount of time waiting in the visiting room as she'd spent in the hospital and asylum.

There he was. Restrained, chained; tied to something that looked fit for a giant Hannibal Lector. He didn't have that sort of mask on though. There was nothing on his face. There was nothing in his eyes.

They were empty.

Kira stared, horrified. Revulsion built up in the pity of her belly; the warm of it traveled up to her throat like rancid bile. She gagged. Her hands covered her mouth as her eyes burned. Her vision blurred as the guards removed the chains and the straps.

By the time she'd wiped her eyes and swallowed down the vomit, they had him in only handcuffs, sitting in his tiny chair.

The door slammed and then it was silent.

Jacob Goodnight sat in the tiny chair and stared at the tiny table with empty eyes.

Kira wanted to die.

This was all her fault. All her fault. She should have done something sooner. She should have killed the police in the hotel. She should have grabbed one of their guns and fired away. Give him time to escape.

But he wouldn't have left her. And she would have slowed him down. She wasn't strong like him. She couldn't survive the way he did. She would have slowed him down, and they would have been caught, eventually.

She wasn't strong enough for Jacob, and now…Kira couldn't bare the sight of him.

He was clean. That was the second thing she noticed after his eyes. Somehow they had managed to remove the layer of sweat and grime that not even lukewarm showers of scrubbing could remove. His nails had been filed down. They were still thick and yellow, but not as overgrown. There wasn't any dirty or blood lingering around the edges.

He was clean. In all the wrong ways.

"Jacob?" She wanted to scream his name. Wake him up from his trance. She prayed that's what this was; one of his trances. She couldn't scream though. Her voice was suddenly weak again. She whispered his name hoarsely, and then she whispered it again.

Jacob stared at the table.

Kira walked over to the empty chair. She sat down and looked at her poor Jacob.

The handcuffs were too small. They were biting into his flesh. Everything was too small for Jacob, and all those damned police and doctors and shrinks had done nothing to make arrangements for Jacob's size.

They would all burn; eyeless and soulless, screaming for eternity.

Kira slid her left hand over. Her fingers timidly moved to touch his hands; he was staring at his hands on the table, not the table. She laid her fingers over his. "Jacob?"

He blinked.

She waited.

Nothing.

"Jacob?" Kira's eyes were burning, blurring again. She swallowed more bile back down to her stomach. Her left hand turned over, palm facing up. She moved her wrist close to his fingers. "Jacob, it's Kira. Kira."

Jacob's eyes blinked; once, twice, then several times in rapid succession. The milky eye remained unfocused, but the other shifted slightly. Staring now at her wrist. At the cross on her wrist.

Kira bit her lip. She had waited this long. She could wait a few more seconds to see what he would do.

Long, thick fingers twitched; chains rattled. One finger slid over, tentatively tracing the ink on her skin.

Kira bit harder. The taste of blood hit her tongue.

Jacob looked up at her. "Kira."

Kira smiled and wiped away her blood and her tears with her right hand. "Yes, Jacob. It's Kira."

Jacob grabbed her arm and yanked her onto the table.

She laid motionless on the cold metal, face down, belly pressed against the firm surface by those massive hands. She knew what was coming. She heard the lock clicking again - no, no, fuck, no! - but the guards were inside before Jacob lifted her shirt and started touching the church window on her back.

"I'm fine," Kira snapped. "Get out. He's fine."

The guards were staring, disgusted. They thought it was sick; where did they even get off judging? They didn't even believe.

Jacob didn't even notice them. He didn't even seem to hear the door slamming as the guards left the freakshow. He just kept touching her tattoo, palms flat, fingers spread; he wanted to touch as much as possible, touch all of it, get in as much contact as he could.

Kira closed her eyes and smiled.

Everything was right again, even if only for a moment.

"I'll find a way out for us, Jacob. I promise."

Jacob didn't make a sound as he knelt down and buried his face against the angels on her back. His nails bit into her sides as he awkwardly tried to clutch her.

Kira reached back to lay her hand on his trembling shoulder, and Jacob wept.


	7. Symptoms

**Disclaimer: **I do not own the movie (or novel), _See No Evil_, nor any of its characters. They are the property of Dan Magidan, WWE, and LGF. Please do not sue me.

**Author's Note: **While this is the longest installment – so far – it's also the one that makes the least amount of progress. However, I wanted to focus on Jacob and Kira and their reunion a bit more – and see it from both perspectives. Plus, it also helps to set up where the story is going so that the next few chapters can make a lot of progress. My initial hope was to keep this story ten chapters or under, and I think I may actually be able to meet that goal. Updates should continue to come often. All right, my excessive rambling will cease now – thank you to the reviewers!

***

_**Symptoms**_

Rough, cracked fingernails traced her skin. Trembling fingertips grazed against her back now and then. Calloused palms timidly laid flat ever few minutes.

Clean hands spread the moisture of tears over the ornate design etched into her flesh. Washing her clean.

Kira wasn't sure how long Jacob had cried. She wasn't sure how long it had been since his head had lifted, and his hands began their worship anew. She didn't much care.

The now warm metal of the table was uncomfortable and making her stiff. The edge bit into her knees where her legs dangled off the edge. None of that mattered.

Unfortunately, they were on a time limit. Those guards would be back any moment. The lawyers were probably going crazy wanting in.

Kira closed her eyes; tight, clenching the lids until there was only pure blackness. She didn't want this to be over. She didn't want this to end yet, not yet, not when she had finally gotten it back.

It was for their good, she had to tell herself. It was for their future. It was for her and Jacob; she had to put a stop to this if there was any chance for them to get past this.

Resigned to their current predicament, Kira rolled herself over and pulled her shirt down. She hated the longing in Jacob's eyes; even the milky blue one was full of emotion now. She sat up and took hold of his hands.

Jacob immediately began to fidget. He looked uncomfortable; a fierce some monster indeed, nervous and shy.

Kira kept the touch simple. She remembered how much he didn't like actually being touched himself. Back in the Blackwell she hadn't made much attempt at returning his attentions. She had let him do what he pleased; after everything had sunk in, she had shown affection, loyalty. She had even encouraged him to touch her tattoos, to give himself a little relief.

He'd never hurt her. He'd never even penetrated.

Everyone - except the wealthy rats that were his lawyers - wanted her to turn on him, roll over on him, and he was the one who been the most gentle.

"Jacob?"

Her poor giant looked at her; timid, uncertain, still a child. He kept eye contact though his gaze would falter every few seconds. Jacob didn't fear her eyes; it was strange how he didn't like direct eye contact when his fingers weren't breaking it.

"Jacob, I need you to understand me. Those men that have been visiting you, the ones in suits? They're going to come in soon. I need to you stay calm. We need them, Jacob," Kira explained. She hoped he understood her.

Sometimes he seemed cognizant of reality outside his realm of judgment. Other times it was as though he was completely and totally detached.

Kira suspected it was both, depending. She knew Margaret had kept Jacob trapped in her own, delusional world - oh, but she wasn't all wrong, no, not all wrong about Jacob - but he had learned to function without Margaret.

Hopefully he knew enough to listen to her now.

Her hands let go of his. The clatter of metal rang loudly in the room; his too small cuffs hit the table as he sat down in front of her.

Kira grabbed the other chair and moved it to sit next to him.

The guards glanced in; briefly, they apparently didn't have tattoo fetishes. When they noticed that Kira and Jacob were sitting, waiting, they opened the door.

The lawyers - Jacob's and then her own single lawyer - filed into the room. The first thing anyone said was, "We're going to need more chairs."

***

He didn't like the way they looked at him; prying, starving eyes. He hated their gazes on them; stealing away his soul, what was left of it. It sickened him. He had been forced to endure their devouring gaze so many times.

Part of him just wanted them to eat away the last remains of his soul and be done with it.

But she was there this time. She was there, next to him, her hands gentle against his numb wrists. She was real. She was there, with the holy on her skin. Her eyes didn't prick at his soul. Her eyes were still innocent, still clean, still pure.

His fingers twitched. He wanted to rip the others' eyes out. He wanted to touch the holy again. He wanted to touch her.

Jacob wanted to grab her and take her back to where they would be safe, shadowed. He wanted to smell her hair, feel her under him. He wanted to hear her speaking to him again. He just wanted to cling to her; there was nothing else left, he was a broken and beaten warrior, but she was still his prize.

She was different, the way he was different. He didn't know how to describe it. She was clean, the way he had been cleaned - but it didn't seem clean. It didn't seem _right_.

Jacob didn't like it. He didn't like that they were trying to taint his prize; he had bathed her, and they were already trying to taint her again.

They thought if they covered her in sin but made it pretty, then he wouldn't see it. They would trick him.

But she wouldn't let them.

Jacob looked down at her hands, her thin fingers gently touching his wrists. He fought the instinct to pull away. He hated being touched. But he wanted her to touch him.

Wrong. Wrong. All wrong, so wrong.

The almost forgotten warmth between his legs was back. He hadn't felt it since they had come and taken him from his home, taken Kira from him. It would have been better if he never felt it again.

She had almost convinced him it wasn't wrong; she had almost convinced him that the things he felt and did when he looked at her, touched her, weren't wrong. She had almost eased the knot of guilt that would form in his gut when he did those things. When he saw the messes he made on her skin; on the holy.

That guilt was coming back now, with the warmth. But her hands were soft, and her touches tender.

He didn't like being touched. Touches were punishment. He was only touched when he did something wrong; when he had to be shown the way again. Dragged back to the path. He hated touches.

She never touched him to punish him. Not anymore. Not since the first mess he had made on the holy on her back. She only touched him to comfort. Her fingers were like forgiveness, and despite all the years of growing resentment towards the feel of another's hands on his skin, he wanted to feel _hers_.

The others were still talking. Still staring. There were several. Jacob wasn't sure how many. He thought there were five. Or maybe seven. No, six. There weren't enough of them to be five. Most of them were male. There was one female, and she sat closest to Kira.

Jacob hated her the most. He hated the way she looked at Kira more than the others. He hated the way she kept stealing bits and pieces away from Kira.

If he could go against Kira's words, he would kill that one first.

But he couldn't. He couldn't disobey her, the same way he couldn't disobey the woman - _Mother, Mother, oh, Mommy, how could you? _- until Kira. He had killed the woman for Kira - _wretched boy, oh, how could I? _- and now he was left with no choice but to obey her.

The others kept asking him questions. They always asked questions. Their voices scratched at his ears; endless interrogations that he knew was simply so they could find out his weaknesses.

Kira talked. Her fingers stayed on his skin, and her voice kept answering their questions. Her voice was clipped, sharp; she didn't like the questions either. She didn't like the others either.

Jacob longed for the darkness of the alleys. He longed for the dim, yellowy lighting of him. The corridors where he hid when sinners came - foolish prey, they flocked to the dirtiest places to sleep - and the hallways where he hunted them before they could turn their hungry eyes on his soul.

He hated the harsh, white lights of this place. He hated how small everything was; he felt so tightly packed in. The walls were crowding him, trying to box him in; it felt as though they would close in _on_ him at any moment.

The monster looked down at Kira. He glanced at the tattoo on her left wrist. It was the only one he could see at the moment. He hesitated - the others were still talking, Kira was still answering.

The urge was too great; Jacob lifted his hands just a little, just enough for his fingers to close around her wrist. He shuddered; visibly; for Kira it felt like an earthquake. He could feel the warmth of the symbol on her skin, burning into his flesh.

Across from them the others stared; still and silent, like the frozen hunted before the predator strikes. Aware of their impending doom.

Kira's lips curved.

Jacob ignored the way such a look on her face made the hardening bulge between his thighs twitch.

The voices picked back up, but Jacob just watched Kira and savored the ink burning under his fingers.

***

Kira kept lightly stroking Jacob's wrists. She had to. If she stopped, her fingers would twitch madly, as if convulsing. The urge to rip out everyone's eyes was too great; Jacob's warm skin was the only distraction her poor fingers had.

The lawyers kept asking questions. About the time in the Blackwell. About Jacob's mental stability. About Margaret.

Jacob was out of it. He had not once perked up at any of the questions, not even when his mother - Frankenstein's bitchy hag of a descendent - was brought up. He was completely lost; apparently when she had asked him to behave, he had zoned out. Maybe that was the only way he could behave.

Her eyes glanced at her fingers, touching him almost idly. She could understand that kind of coping mechanism.

The lawyers - his - seemed pleased with her responses. They could use this, use this for Jacob's benefit. That was what they said. It was really for their's; they were well on their way to becoming the best defense lawyers in the entire country. Perhaps the world.

If they could get Jacob Goodnight - er, Gayne - locked away in a mental institution instead of sitting on death row for a hasty execution, what were the odds of ever losing again?

Apparently it never occurred to them that their infamy would instantly turn off jurors and judges alike.

The lawyer - hers - did not seem pleased at all. Her eyes stared on Kira. Sometimes they would flicker to Jacob's hands, but she never really looked at Jacob. With every answer Kira gave, every time she seemed to give Jacob's lawyers more fodder and defend the brute beside her, her lawyer became more and more agitated.

It figured her lawyer would be a feminist who probably would rather be helping the prosecution burn Jacob alive, using Kira as the main torch.

_Just wait until you take your last breath and then open those deceptive eyes of yours._

Kira was growing tired of talking. She hadn't done this much talking since the last time she had dealt with lawyers.

Though those lawyers had been lying, backstabbing prosecutors who had turned on her the moment she'd given them what they'd wanted.

Even more than talking, Kira was growing tired of this game. She wanted it to be over already. She wanted to find out what the lawyers' new plan would be; what the dates, times, and locations would be. What she would have to do to return the favor she owed her savior.

Patience. She just had to have patience.

Her eyes lowered again. She smiled; a real smile. She hadn't smiled since…it didn't matter.

Jacob's massive hand wrapped around her left wrist, fingers closing over the cross etched into her skin. His hand was hot; the grip was tight and familiar.

It would be all right. Everything would be all right. She was giving the lawyers what they wanted. Exactly what they needed. They would make all the necessary changes, arrangements.

Kira's fingers twitched against Jacob's skin. She watched as his did the same. She knew how badly they both were struggling to wait. But it would be worth it. Today was too soon; everything would be ruined if they didn't bide their time.

_Wait. Wait, Jacob, wait. Judgment day will soon be at hand._

Then she could finally give into the urge. Maybe that would make him proud.

***

**A/N2:** The part where Jacob does math (poorly) is a reference to a scene in the novelization where Jacob attempts to count how many are at the bar when the kids light up. That was one of my favorite bits (I found it rather adorable) and couldn't help but include Jacob's bad math skills in this chapter. Jacob is definitely a mix of novel and movie. He was more of a hunter, barbarian type in the novel who was mentally...stunted? I guess is the word. Not so much childlike, but in the movie, he seemed more childlike and delusional while still being a smart, capable killer. Hopefully the mixture worked well. Okay, NOW I'm ceasing my rambling.


	8. Sacrifice

**Disclaimer: **I do not own the movie (or novel), _See No Evil_, nor any of its characters. They are the property of Dan Magidan, WWE, and LGF. Please do not sue me.

**Author's Note: **This is a shorter chapter than usual, but I didn't feel it needed to be any longer (plus I was having some difficulty with how I wanted it to go, and couldn't figure out a sactisfactory way to continue it further). Two more chapters after this - we're reaching the end! Also, I am pretty darn sure that most of the legal matters, security issues, etc., are way off. However, given some of the liberties taken with the movie itself (plus most slasher movies in general), I'm not going to get anal over making sure everything is totally realistic. I probably wouldn't be writing this if I had that intention (I might literally go insane). I apologize if it ever seems too unrealistic for any readers and detracts from the story. Okay, enough rambling from me.

***

_**Sacrifice**_

It was cold in the car.

Well, not quite.

Kira was actually damp with perspiration. She kept glancing at the AC button. Her fingers twitched with a new urge now.

The guard from the asylum and the lawyer, however, were made of ice. Their frozen stares were starving and hateful.

The guard simply because he was trained to be so; it was his job. All the guards there were cold. They made the doctors and nurses and quack therapists look warm and inviting.

The lawyer…Kira knew what had crawled up that cunt's ass.

A pain as big as Jacob must have been awful.

Kira wasn't sure if her lawyer was a tightass or a slut. She could see it being either way; perhaps it was best if she were a slut. Kira imagined that would be the only thing that could make this new rod that had been shoved up the lawyer's rectum a little less painful.

It wasn't as if the lawyer even had the right.

_Self-centered whore._

Kira was the one who deserved to be angry. Who had the right to harden her eyes with loathing and resentment and disgust.

Had it hurt them to see Jacob being beaten, drugged, restrained just because he didn't want to let her go? Had it torn them apart inside? The look of betrayal in his eyes? The longing, the desperate need for something to cling to, something he knew.

Jacob thought she had left him, that she was in on it. That she was part of it. He thought she had betrayed him.

Kira wanted him to know that she didn't want to leave. She'd tried to hold onto his hands until he was taken out. She'd tried to sing his favorite song to him as the guards pummeled him with those awful sticks.

The broken chorus of the Sunday school song had faltered when he'd finally been drugged. She couldn't finish the song, and his eyes unfocused again; her blurry vision could still see that same look of fear she'd seen when Jacob had killed Margaret.

This time he didn't have Kira to comfort him. Tell him he did the right thing. Tell him everything would be all right.

He didn't have the tattoos on her skin to touch. He probably didn't have anything holy in his room at all.

It made Kira sick. The whole thing had made Kira sick.

Did the guard or the lawyer care that Kira's mouth still tasted of bile?

_Soul-sucking parasites._

Kira sucked in a breath. Her fingers finally gave into the urge; fuck the guard driving, fuck the rat beside him. She reached from the backseat, through the space between the two in front and turned on the AC.

There was only the barest of acknowledgement from either of them. Then it was back to the silent drive. They were close to the asylum, but Kira didn't want to get any damper.

She felt unclean enough as it was.

Just a little more time.

She only needed a little more time.

They only needed to wait a little while longer.

Jacob would be found legally incompetent. There was no way he couldn't be; not with the first judge's decision overruled. All those appeals, they would lead to Jacob finally being declared insane, incompetent. A danger as much to himself as to the public.

It would be a psych ward for him. He would get more security than most other patients - prisoners - but it would be nothing like prison.

Nothing he couldn't get out of. He would just need a little help.

Just someone visiting at the right time. Just someone making sure he didn't ingest all the medications they'd be doping him up on. Just one night without all the proper sedatives and various poisons they'd be shoving down his throat or pumping into his veins, and he would be fine.

He'd be on his own. He'd be hunted. But he'd be free. A free man on the run, but Jacob had hidden in the shadows successful for most of his adult life.

There was no way Margaret had always been there for him. He knew enough to survive on his own. He would be fine.

Kira knew he'd look for her. Kira knew he'd never find her. Perhaps someday, whenever the lawyers and the doctors and the shrinks finally gave up on her, she could find him.

It would be a long wait.

They would want to pin Jacob's escape on her, and they'd probably be able to. They'd want to pin everything on her while they struggled to track him down. They'd probably be able to do that as well.

Kira wouldn't give them anything though. She had given them enough. Enough to put Jacob on the path to freedom.

When they finally reached the asylum, Kira didn't say a word as the guard led her in, as the lawyer went over the legal details again. Kira didn't say a word when the lawyer - thankfully - left.

The nurses came in that evening with her nightly meds. The therapist stopped in to see how she was doing after seeing Jacob. The doctors came in to make sure she hadn't gone into shock, or suffered any physical setback.

Kira didn't utter a word. Her lips only moved to smile. In her head, she sang the words to "Jesus Loves the Little Children."

She never faltered.


	9. Salvation

**Disclaimer: **I do not own the movie (or novel), _See No Evil_, nor any of its characters. They are the property of Dan Magidan, WWE, and LGF. Please do not sue me.

**Author's Note: **One chapter left. I'm hoping to get that up tomorrow or Sunday evening (I work on weekends currently), but I can't make any promises. Also, the doctor character in this story is a character who appears in one chapter in the beginning of the _See No Evil_ novel, not an original character. There are some loopholes and things left unexplained, but since this is from Kira's POV, obviously she isn't going to know everything that's going on (and maybe it's also a copout for me, so I can leave it up to the reader to fill in some blanks instead of writing them out in totally unrealistic fashion that just reads as ridiculous). Thanks so much for the reviews.

***

_**Salvation**_

"Kira, are you ready to talk now?"

_He's out._

"Kira, remember our agreement. I went against my better judgment, and the judgment of my superiors."

_He's free._

"For you. So you could see the news. You've seen it. You've found out what you wanted to know."

_He's alive._

"It's time you held up your end of the bargain, remember?"

_He's gone._

"Kira?"

Kira wasn't listening.

"All right, it's time to go back to your room."

Kira's eyes refocused, and her head snapped up to glare at the shrink as the nagging harlot turned the TV off. Her fingers twitched. Her arms twitched.

If a sound was going to come out of Kira's mouth tonight, it would only be her scream of anger and frustration. She wanted to hiss back at the serpent before her that she didn't have fucking Stockholm Syndrome, but she did have claustrophobia - something they didn't seem to care about.

Not that she ever thought they cared.

The straightjacket was for her own good. Of course. She was a danger to herself. To others.

It would be permanent soon. The jacket, the forced meds, the whole sterile, sin infected package. The asylum full of eyes - the starving and desperate, the gluttonous and vile. It had been purgatory before; soon her sentence would be dealt out. It would become Hell.

_He's alive. He's free. That's all that matters._

Kira had been the perfect sacrifice. She was used to the system; it had used her before, just like her father and Michael and Michael's slithering, slimy clientele. The system had been itching to have her again, and she had laid down willingly.

Her spread legs bought Jacob's freedom. Her arms bound, she couldn't fight if she wanted to.

The shrink ordered one of the guards to take her back to her cell. Her face was contorted with frustration - Kira knew the whore wanted Kira to believe it was out of sympathy for Kira's delusional state.

Except she wasn't delusion. She was perfectly sane. She was more coherent and aware than ever before. She knew exactly what she was doing when she spoke only to the shrink when she had to, the lawyer when she had to, the judge and DA when she had to.

Everyone knew that she was cognizant when she shouted Jacob's name as they were transporting him to his asylum. Everyone knew that she'd set everything up; testifying, watching the guards move him, keeping him docile until that very moment, that perfect opening.

It was such a perfect plan. Executed flawlessly.

And the doctors and the shrink wanted to tell her she was insane. It was her mental defect. Her syndrome. Her disease. The one she'd been given by Jacob.

After all, Jacob was the one running loose, right? She had sacrificed herself for him. Kira Vanning was not that kind of person, not before the Blackwell.

They somehow knew her better than she knew herself, of course. They didn't buy it when she spat back in their faces; _I only rolled on those who hurt me. I only rolled on those who used me. I only rolled when there was nothing worth saving. Jacob was worth saving._

It only proved to them even more than she suffered from Stockholm. Always back to Stockholm. Always back to that syndrome.

She didn't have that fucking syndrome.

Her eyes burned. They itched with the crust of sleep and tears. She wanted to wipe her eyes. She never asked the guards to do it. She never asked the nurses. She didn't let them anywhere near her eyes; _they're Jacob's, they're Jacob's, don't you touch them!_

No one ever saw her crying. She kept it quiet, late at night. Turned on her side, back to the door. Staring at the cross on her wall, the one decoration they'd allowed. Staring at it the way Jacob stared at her back. Praying, hoping; _let him be safe, let him get away, let him find peace._

It would be the same again tonight. The guard would stiffly get her on her bed, secure her in her cell. When the footsteps faded away, it would be safe.

And Kira would once again cry herself to sleep as Michael stared at her with empty sockets, whispering that they would be together forever. She would cry until the blackness came, and she could dream.

Michael was never in her dreams. Jacob always scared him away.

They protected each other. They were loyal; family, even. They loved each other. They were grateful to each other.

That was why she did it. Why she martyred herself for Jacob's freedom. She had known the system so well; just like any man, show it what it truly wants, and all the other duties become neglected. Even if only for a moment. That was all she needed, and she got it.

Kira could still see him, running for the shadows. Kira could still see the look in his eyes the last time he looked back.

He knew. He had forgiven her for leaving him. He knew she had done it for him. He knew, and he forgave. Instead of betrayal, the last look in his eyes was longing and sorrow. He had to leave her now.

But she knew that. She understood that. There was no betrayal on his part. She didn't feel abandoned. The loneliness, the emptiness - the haziness of the drugs - it consumed her. But she did not feel abandoned.

_It was all worth it._

The guard laid her on her bed, just as she'd known he would. It was earlier than usual. It would be longer before it was safe.

Michael was waiting for her. Standing beside the cross. He could not stand in front, but he could stand right by. He could force her to look at him. To at least see him in the corners of her vision. The bloody holes in his face were fixated on her as the guard laid her down, told her to behave, and walked out.

Kira stared at the cross on the wall. She heard the locks clicking into place. She bit her lip, chewing at the still healing scab until it bled anew.

Michael was hovering right above her now.

"_They'll never let you leave. Even if he finds you again. He'll never reach you. He'll never touch you again."_

Kira wanted to cover her ears. Her arms struggled; she began to pant, to panic as her fears overwhelmed her. She wanted to move. She couldn't stand not moving. Not being able to wipe her eyes, cover her ears.

He never stopped whispering the awful truth.

There were more voices. Outside. People were talking outside - they never talked outside, not this late. It wasn't lights out, but still late. Too late for so much noise; she just wanted to cry, why did they have to be out there?

The familiar sound of the cell gate being unlocked clicked in her ears.

"Kira?"

Kira didn't know if she should remain frozen or stir. She didn't know what was going on. But Michael was gone, and she couldn't face him again yet. She shifted, trying to roll over.

The shrink was standing in the doorway. She looked unhappy. Her hand was on the doorknob, ready to close it up again, lock Kira in again. "Ah. Yes, Dr. Bennell, she's still awake."

"Excellent," an unfamiliar voice stated politely. An older man - middle aged, worn out and leathery from too much liquor, a lot like her father - brushed past the shrink and faced Kira. He was smiling, politely, for some unknown reason.

Kira blinked. She knew this man. Yet, no, she couldn't. His clothing was all wrong. He didn't belong in this setting. His face was too kind, too relaxed. He was clean and well dressed and looked like a true professional.

Not some street doctor performing illegal services for the desperate heathens overpopulating the alleyways and sewers.

Michael had taken her to see this doctor on a couple of occasions. Michael had never given her a choice. Michael had left her in this man's care to rectify the consequences of clients forgetting all the proper equipment.

"Kira, this is Dr. Miles Bennell. He's here-"

"Actually, I think I can handle it from here."

The shrink looked appalled at being interrupted. She stood there, mouth hanging open, until the doctor spoke up again.

"Kira is restrained, medicated, and you of all people should know that this meeting has to be private. Doctor patient privilege and all," he reminded the shrink. He smiled a condescending smile, like the one the therapist always gave Kira.

Kira almost laughed.

"Very well, Doctor. Knock on the door when you're done, and the guard will escort you out." The shrink stormed out briskly, rushing away to throw a tantrum in her office, no doubt.

Kira's eyes locked on the doctor.

"Your psychiatrist was going to say I'm here on behalf of your father. I'm not. I'm here on behalf of a…mutual acquaintance."

Kira blinked.

The doctor walked over to her. He noticed the crust around her eyes. For some reason, she let him take out a hankerchiff and gently wipe away some of the itchy crust. "There. That's a little better, isn't it?"

Mutual acquaintance? Michael's eyeless face was nowhere in sight, and she knew that the doctor wouldn't see him anyway. Nobody saw Michael. But Michael was the reason she knew the doctor. Her father had never met him.

"Michael's dead."

Dr. Bennell looked at her, confused. His gaze wasn't as painful, but she was still uncomfortable. "Michael? Oh, oh. You mean the boy that brought you to me. No. He is not the reason I am here, Kira."

It wasn't sinking in. It was, but she didn't want it to. She didn't believe it. She couldn't. It just wasn't possible.

"He's the reason I'm even able to get in to a place like this. Why I can practice medicine with a license." The doctor was doing something with her jacket. He didn't remove it. He made it looser. "Don't move to much, we don't want them to know you can get out of it yet," he instructed.

Kira blinked. She could get out of it?

He was letting her out of it?

Kira looked up at the doctor. "Jacob?"

Dr. Bennell smiled - tight, a little nervous - and gave a brief nod. "Bingo."

Kira smiled. She truly hadn't been abandoned.


	10. Cure

**Disclaimer: **I do not own the movie (or novel), _See No Evil_, nor any of its characters. They are the property of Dan Magidan, WWE, and LGF. Please do not sue me.

**Author's Note: **This is it - the last chapter. Of this story, anyway. Ideas for another story in this little AU 'verse I've made are still floating around in my head, and I enjoy writing these two far too much to say I'm done. But as for _Syndrome_, it has reached the end of its road. I really had a lot of fun writing this, and hopefully that showed. I hope that even the unbelievable parts were still entertaining and never crossed over into too ridiculous to enjoy territory. I wanted this story to have a surreal feeling to it - partly because I feel that the novel itself had an almost surreal quality, and the movie had it in certain areas. Also because it was from Jacob's and Kira's perspectives, which are not quite in touch with reality. It was so much fun to write this journey, and I really owe a huge thank you to all my reviewers - especially** Jemima Flute**, who kept me from forgetting this story, haha. Now, I'm going to shut up, and let you read the final chapter.

***

_**Cure**_

The shadows had welcomed him back with open arms; their long lost friend, finally home. They were familiar and safe; his sanctuary. The took him in once more, and they sheltered him as he fled the hunters, the ones with chains and weapons of war, weapons of conquering.

The monster knew he was no match for their advanced methods and means. He knew he had no option other than to run. He could not be taken again. He could not be chained again. He could not be beaten down, laughed at, used for sport and amusement.

He was a warrior for the kill, for survival. They were warriors for the spiteful conquest, the cruel humiliation.

And it sickened him that they were turn their starving eyes on Kira. It sickened him that he could not run to her, take her with him. He was too weak; he did not yet have the strength to bring those oppressive walls crumbling down on the ones keeping her.

They would make her suffer for their damaged pride; she would bear the weight of his punishment.

His fingers hurt with the need to rip their eyes, free all the pieces of her soul they had no doubt stolen. His fingers hurt like his head would hurt, and he would beat them against the harsh walls in the shadows; he did not stop until they were numb.

It was the pain that broke through his helpless despair. It was the pain that gave him hope again. Pain had never served him before - but Kira, his Kira, had changed everything.

She had given him a gift. She had given him reprieve from the pain, relief; and still now, so far away, she gave the returning pain a purpose.

The shadows had been willing to protect him throughout his search. But they could only go so far, and Jacob soon found himself forced to leave the safety they offered.

It hurt his eyes, the streetlights. It hurt his flesh; he felt as though the pain was crawling in his veins, just under his skin, like cockroaches scurrying to hide from the brightness. It had been like this in the cells the hunters had put him in. It had been worse there. He hurt, but the pain was only half-registered as discomfort as he searched for the one he needed.

Jacob had made a silent pact with this medicine man, but he was willing to break it. He was willing to do a lot of things right now - whatever it took to keep him free and get her back.

Once she was back, everything would be right again. The girl was what he needed; her holy protected him, and her fingers forgave him. The girl was everything the woman - _Why, Mommy, why?_ - had tried to be, wanted to be.

Mother's vanity had crippled him. A fatal wound - insidious and serpentine, weaving its way through him and oozing out of the hole in his head.

Kira's purity had given him new life. She had patched up all the holes, even the ones he couldn't see but still felt. She had given the little boy peace and comfort; most of all she'd given him rest.

It had taken weeks to finally find the medicine man. It was so much trickier, finding someone who had left the darkness. But Jacob remembered the man's face. He remembered the man's smell, and the scraping sound of the man's voice. It had taken weeks, but Jacob found the man he needed.

Walking home, all alone, by himself in the darkness. He was on a clean sidewalk, in a clean neighborhood. He was surrounded by picket fences and skin-shallow holiness. He didn't think the monster would come there, not even to the shadows that rested there. He didn't think the monster would ever come back at all.

It wasn't as though he didn't know Jacob was loose. Everyone knew; not a soul in the entire country could be unaware that Jacob Goodnight was free, on the run.

But they had made a silent deal - not a word was ever spoken, and Jacob never stepped out of the shadows into the doctor's life ever again. He had kept up his side, why wouldn't Jacob?

Because he couldn't. He would make the medicine man see that. He would make the man understand that Jacob needed something else now, something more important. He would make the man agree to help him - and he knew, he knew without a doubt that this man would help him without complaint.

He could still remember the taste of the man's fear tainting the air he breathed in that cramped room.

***

And he was right. The medicine man had agreed to help Jacob. The man had agreed to do whatever Jacob needed, whatever was in the doctor's power to do.

It had been sheer luck that the doctor recognized the picture of Kira on the news. Even more fortunate he remembered her name, remembered who she'd once been, who she'd been with. He even remembered the way she cried when she knew the life wasn't inside her as she left.

Jacob did not believe in luck. Jacob believed in divinity. In fate. Jacob believed in purpose. His faith had wavered when he'd taken Kira in, when the woman had revolted against Kira's presence. His faith had wavered when he killed the woman - the boy had wept and laughed in the back of his mind, somehow balancing grief and relief.

But Kira had renewed his faith, and it was strong when he said her name. It grew stronger when the medicine man's eyes lit up with recognition.

Everything had worked out for this purpose. It was meant to be. Everything became clearer for Jacob as he waited for the doctor to fulfill this last bargain. Everything became clearer as he waited for Kira.

It was a couple of days before she finally came. Before the doctor could bring her to the place where Jacob had shown the doctor he'd be waiting. It was days spent waiting, thinking - ignoring the awful pain returning to his head.

Jacob paced. Jacob sat, and he rocked himself gently. Rocking the peaceful boy in his mind's eyes, hearing a broken tune playing on a loop in his head. Jacob waited. He did not go out to hunt. To judge. He did not go out to feed. He had a source of water near him; he went there sparingly. He just waited.

Everything was falling into place. But nothing would be in place if he missed Kira. If she came to him, and he wasn't there. He couldn't risk it. Not when everything was finally making sense in his head; nothing had made sense in his head before her, not the way it needed to - it was never right, _Mother never made it right._

The waiting was worth it. Just like he'd believed it would be.

He was a loyal servant, and his loyalty was rewarded.

She was there, in front of the doctor, running. Running out of the car, running into the shadows where she must have seen him waiting. She was pale and thin, her innocent eyes were rimmed with dark circles - but she was smiling, full of joy when she touched him. When she wrapped her arms around him - _just like Mother had never done _- and held him tight with her frail arms.

And it was perfect. It was what he had been waiting for. What he had been searching for. The emptiness was gone, and the pain subsided. The ache faded; the sickness in his veins, in his gut as the warmth spread throughout him and settled between his legs, was gone.

Everything was finally in place. Just as he'd believed.

He would never let her go. She would never want to leave. Just as it should be.

God had shown them the way.


End file.
